runaway princess…

They’re known as chocolate chip cookies. They’re the favorites of perfectly normal kids, depressed women and obese men alike. It was beautifully situated inside a jar on top of the table at Mom’s TV room, seducing my desirous hunger. And they were exactly the cause of my most recent sinful activity as two pieces led to five and five led to an empty jar. I managed to pick up the crumbs off my shirt and allowed my tongue to savor every last piece.

I called my trainer.

“100 crunches tomorrow, Missy.” He ended the conversation with no argument from me.

I closed the phone feeling like a kid that literally deserved to be spanked for my disobedience. Oh, it was terrible feeling shallow and vain. It was a mockery toward my own self for feeling extremely un-beautiful. It was even more torturing knowing that feeling as such was unnecessarily bogus.

—

It began almost 2 months ago when I entered a place where the highly superficial and/or the physically oriented beings spend their minutes – the gym. Having stopped for about a month with “holidaying” as my most classic excuse, I felt a rush of adrenalin as I met the 26 year old head trainer. He was the right person to fix this body, I thought.

“What’s your motivation for gym, Sita?” He asked as he measured every inch of me as a normal procedure for new members.

“It’s a regular habit. I’ve been gymming on and off for about 4 years.”

“That’s nice to know. Will you be in need of a trainer?”

I looked around witnessing few better bodies assisting the overweight ones.

“Are you available?”

He blushed and said, “I’m full but I can assist you if you are here in the mornings or during my regular hours. We train privately during our off hours.”

“That’s good thank you.” I smiled conducting an inspection of his successful body from top to bottom.

“Now have you ever measured your fat percentage before?”

“Yes, it was 14% two years ago and last year went to 22%.”

“That’s excellent,” He said, “Let’s hope we reach the same number this time.” He began measuring.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Hmmm…it’s 32% and that is very poor on the scale. No exercise for two weeks can get your fat up to 5% so this isn’t a surprise.”

That was it. For whom I thought was the least vain person in the world, my jaw hung open for a couple of seconds before my eyes blinked bringing me back to reality.

“I believe that with determination and effort you can bring your 14% back again. You are not overweight in fact you’re just fine. We just need to tone and alter the fat to muscle without…”

“This is horrible!” I shrieked feeling childish and wondering how many female idiots like me he’s encountered.

He smiled. “We’ll take it slow but sure. I guarantee.”

Ah, it wasn’t merely about the major change of percentage. Um okay, of course it was. No, no, it was strictly more about health on top of it all. It was about how careless I have been toward my physical body, how unnervingly ignorant! It was uncalled for and needed no immediate forgiveness.

—

With determination and effort, my trainer had said. After gagging over the chocolate chips, I ran over the list of repeated resolution for a healthy future which I had written on a small note pad. One I carry everywhere inside my purse.

No alcohol except half a glass of wine during very rare in-need-of-wine dinners. No smoking. No mentally and physically cheating on your partner. No cursing with anger. (Cursing playfully is okay). No making fun of people verbally. (Bad thoughts need no publicity). No eating red meat or four legged animals. Avoid eggs. Speak to God on a daily basis even for only 5 minutes. An apple/banana a day. Never forget to share or donate. Smile especially to people you dislike. Or those that dislikes you. Greet old friends on occasions just to say “Hello, how are you?” instead of asking for a place to crash once you’re in his/her city. Gym regularly. Always find yoga class no matter where you live. No fast food. No junk food. One chocolate chip cookie per month. One piece. Damn it. No cursing!

When we first met as chat buddies, I sulked about the men in my life and you said, “Never give up on us. Who knows that the next person might be the one?” I took your advice and now look what happened.

I love it when you say, “When I play hockey, I forget everything else and just concentrate on the game”, but as soon as you slide through the ice and score a goal, your eyes search frantically for me wondering whether I saw that goal of yours.

It’s awfully cute how you always either postpone or refuse to go shopping for yourself, but when you finally do, you rob an entire Calvin Kline rack.

You carry that X factor most men would die for.

I am actually 100% sure that you will be an excellent father.

You’re a romantic jock who can hit the dance floor without looking stupid. I am still speechless on this one.

Based on your past photos, I am relieved to know that you are very much like wine. You age with grace so I am looking forward to growing old with you.

It’s cute how you spend your nights watching National Geographic or Discovery then recite the whole show to me the next day.

You attract both the male and female yet you remain a straight, friendly, down to earth male. (Fiuuhhh)

I forgive all your jealousy because it turns me on deep down.

You admit and point out other good looking men in a nightclub, aside from yourself.

You got the body, you got the face, you got the profession, you got the fashion, and but spend as much time for your hair as those girls at the modeling agency.

When you receive no reply of SMS from me within one hour, you mope like a 5 year old who couldn’t get his candy.

You keep on saying that you’re cheap but I have to say that you’re awfully terrible at it! You’re so Mother Theresa at heart.

You make movie scenes come true. You kiss me in the rain. You stare at me in the eyes from across the table. You slow dance in the middle of a club while they play trance. You count stars with me on the beach.

You have a beautiful soul. You’re kind. You’re polite. You’re old school.

You are never ashamed of shedding tears over a romantic love story. It makes you such an excellent customer for Kleenex.

You are the most respectful bar owner I have ever met. Actually, you are the most respectful man I’ve ever met.

It’s a great relief to know that you are such a great communicator. You share everything willingly. You’re open. You’re honest.

I know you’ve won best defense repeatedly at hockey but you’re still the sexiest striker.

I am extremely against your puffing but goodness…you are so attractive when exhaling.

You know exactly how to get what you want and you actually get it.

You hold my hand and stay by my side at events and parties. You even steal kisses and whisper how much you love me. That is too good to be true.

You send me flowers outside of events and holidays. You send me flowers just because.

My dear, you are a Kama Sutra dream come true.

It is soothing to know how much respect you have for women. You’re not the type that stares at flashing cleavage or sprawled naked legs until your eyes pop out. You are awesome.

You chased me on the beach, caught me, carried me and threw me in the water before falling on top of me. I have been waiting for that scene all my life.

The things that you can do, you do them to your best capacity. The things that you cannot do, you learn to do them to your best capacity.

You are the best listener that I’ve ever met simply because you end up remembering everything I think of, say and do.

You pay attention to my hair, my skin, the accidental stains on my shirt, the color of my eye shadow, how I wear my eyeliner, whether I have done my nails or not, and my eye bags when I am tired. Thank you. Most girls dream for that attention.

When you’re alone you spend your time watching DVDs instead of anything else that might worry me.

You are born good looking and you’ll always be attractive for your age. That is not so important but something I can cherish over.

You choose your friends.

You have a great smile. I know it. I know you know it.

You are that exact meaning of open-mindedness. You’re tolerant. You’re understanding. You accept. You give room.

You’re a Gemini. You’re like the twin I was born with, lost and found again. I cannot ask for a better partner.

Dear God,

May you shine your sanction over this contaminated body. May you allow this weak mind to think of Your beauty and Your beauty only. May you wrap my intelligence with knowledge of Your Supreme. May my soul fly into the night hungry for Your presence.

My Sweet, Sweet Lord, I am chocked with ignorance yet allow me to be ignorant of everything but of You. My heart is filled with passion, but I solely yearn to only breed obsession for Your teachings. My mind is feeble and bewilderedly enslaved. Allow it to form an undying servant to You for you are the Supreme of Supremes, The All Knower, The All Attractive, Source of Ultimate Opulence, The Maker, Giver and The Taker.

Forgive this child, Father for I have neglected Your Love.

Oh, I’ve yearned to know You, distinguish your preeminence from all that is sinning in this world. But it takes so long, My Lord. The road takes awfully long bursting with impediments. Whisper to me Your Scriptures so that I may clutch to Your never-ending omnipotence.

King of the heavens, allow my iris to see Your immensity in every living being. Allow me to inhale every fragrance as Your creation. Allow my ears to hear only Your commands and wishes. Allow my lips to only announce prayers and my desire for You. Allow my hands to touch so many lives because You have rested Yourself in them. Allow my feet to run as fast as it could to the nearest temple, for I have longed all my life to feel Your Kingdom. Allow my heart to be filled with Your unconditional divine love as I would like to adore you endlessly, My Lord. Allow my knees to bend down before any altar where Your renunciation resides.

May the taste of intoxication resemble that of poison as it touches my lips and nostrils. May my voice speak of You and You only. May my animosity arrive to its death. May I chant Your Holy Name without tyranny. May I consume meals that You have blessed. May I sing songs written for Your grace. May I take pleasure in the body of my lover and my lover only for the rest of my life as an offering of happiness that You have given to me. May I bare children who will devote themselves to Your prominence.

My Lord, if it takes endless worldly suffering to bring my consideration to You, if it takes physical agony to brace myself at your feet, then may You shine upon me the deepest misery so that I may long for your compassion. So that I may hunger for your mercy. Anything, my Lord, as long as these lips pronounce Your Holy Name. Anything at all, so that I may return home to Your abode.

For I will forever learn to know and love You.

Signed,

Your most insignificant beggar.

The clock said 5.36 and the chilly morning breeze embraced her body as she stepped out to the back porch with rosary at hand. She began conversing with her consideration of Divinity keeping a gaze on her mother’s cactuses with tiny leaves peeping out of each thorn towering over their own personal confinement.  She loved them, growing up to her ankles, some to her waist. The two in the front yard actually reached her height. Out of her slight ignorance for the flora kingdom, she never witnessed cactuses which possessed the ability to grow leaves. When she thought of cactuses, she pictured the desert where the growth of leaves would only increase evaporation rate, whereas the plant itself needed to store as much water as possible to defy the scorching nature.

You’re a dumb idiot, she said to herself.

But she wasn’t in some cruel mass of heat. She was at her mother’s back yard where the weather most times gave her the chills. The thirsts of the cactuses have been more than obeyed.

The beads of the rosary danced with her fingers as soft drops of rain blanketed the soil. Countless nestled on the surface of the wide leaves of the papaya trees.  Showered small pink roses and chrysanthemum waved back at her. The banana trees gave in to the gentle wind as the small lemon trees shivered in ecstasy.

She brought her nose to a few flowers and inhaled. Crouching down she smelled the wet soil too. Perhaps if anyone was watching, they would think she’s on rehab from a shrink. Yet on the contrary, she was in such bliss – an emotion she had been eternally hungry for. Still gripping to the rosary, allowing the beads to empower her thoughts, she rested on one of the marble stools.

On the round table next to the stools, the praying mantis stared straight at her exposing its light green oval eyes and set of jaws.

“Hello to you too.” She said flatly half disbelieving at her spontaneous willingness for a measly bug. The six legged creature raised its front legs ready for an attack. She grinned.

“Put your hands down. Relax…”  She giggled wishing that the little insect could understand her human language. “I wouldn’t kill you even if someone pays me to.”

The insect crawled closer raising its head as if getting a better glimpse of its new companion.

“You’re cute but a bit feisty for my taste.” The girl went on dropping on her knees and bringing her nose 2 inches away from the inferior animal. She knew that male praying mantis can only mate once in their lifetime as the female would consume it right after their mating moment. “I bet you’re a female…”

“Let me see…” Her dad, a former entomologist professor entered the porch, took the green creature on his finger and gazed its lower body. “This is a female which means…” He looked at his daughter.

“It’s a born killer, sir.”

“Very good.”  He approved as she felt a gush of relief. The last thing that she could allow to happen was appear brainless in front of her father. Lack of knowledge of his expertise never produced memorable moments. “The female mantis receives satisfaction by consuming its male friend after mating. Never forget your insects.” He left as abruptly as he arrived.

No sir, she thought. Never forget insects. Never forget proficiencies of your parents. Those limited topics might just be the ammunition to maintain little threads of conversation.

Little threads of conversation between her father and her held such timeless value to their relationship.  Fixing her eyes on the creature, she allowed it to dwindle on her lap.

“So you’re a born killer ay? God was trying to be funny when He invested time in you I guess…”

The insect crawled leisurely, its front legs digging delicately on the surface of her skin.

“If I had killed all of my former mating companions…” She stopped.

The insect had reached her left hand while her right still clutched to the rosary. It raised its two front legs again, ready to defend itself from the most subtle movement of her hand.

“Relax…You look really stupid like that. If only you can see from my eyes…”

The insect stood frozen, both front legs up and stiff.

“You really think you can take me…I bet you don’t realize how small you are compared to other animals that you don’t even know…” She moved her hand to the table hoping the creature would land on its surface. But it froze on her fingers.

“I won’t kill you. I’m not like you. That’s your problem. You think everyone is like you…”

Finally the insect stirred and hopped on the table taking a few steps back, eyes still on her human friend.

The girl continued chanting for the Divine, the beads of the rosary moving faster amongst her fingers.  She opened her eyes as her mother’s screaming voice from upstairs broke her precious silence. Her dad’s voice, just as loud, killed whatever left of that silence.  Her mother began sobbing.

She clenched her teeth as she squeezed the beads.

“You have to learn to trust me. You have to be comfortable around me and know that I won’t kill you.  If you behave, I’ll even give you a lifetime supply of fresh leaves and male companions!” She looked at the 3 inch insect which stared back at her, this time with all six legs sprawled comfortably on the marble surface.

“If you can’t open up then you’ll always be scared of me, which is pretty meaningless, you know…since I can give you everything you need…”

She stopped and felt her beads. She turned to the praying mantis moving its jaws.

She was the six legged creature all along, in fear of the Divine who had only love for her. There was not much left between the walls she was breathing in, but there was an endless ocean of love from her Divinity. God would never sob and break a silence she most enjoyed. God would never scream or grab away her sense of security. God would never ever make her cry in search of comfort. He would assure her that she had nothing in this world to worry about. God would take her fears away.

“You’re lucky to be in my back yard. I would never in a million years kill you.”  She spoke to the praying mantis which she allowed to embrace her fingers. She wondered what God back yard could possibly looks like.

He dropped on the couch next to her. “Oh, I thought you’d be all over the big screens by now handling different romantic affairs off screen.” His Dutch-Indo face hardened as she flinched at his remark at a cozy coffee shop.

Seven years ago, he dragged her out of regular theater classes to take part in his version of Broadway. He was a gifted young director straight out of drama institutions in

Europe

.  In his production, she played

Magdalena

, a 16 year old prostitute who was graciously willing, yet veiled higher dreams. The 4 days performance brought her to recognition and further work. It elevated her father’s unfulfilled dreams– hit the big screen. But she was never an expert at obeying people’s self-absorbed demands.

…Hate me today. Hate me tomorrow. Hate me for all the things I didn’t do for you…

Blue October blared.

“I wanted to see the world,” she reminded him.

“Yes, and after that I thought you’d be anchoring or reporting wars and famines. And whatever happened to National Geographic? You gave that up also?” Her mind fell back on the opportunity that waited patiently for her during college. Suddenly his face grew full of concern.

Seven years did him zero damage. The dark eyes framed with neat brows, announced cheek bones, squared shoulders, and the double laughing lines around his lips remained unchanged. His light brown hair still slightly wavy. She remembered women loved that most about him wishing they could run their fingers through those soft strands. They never succeeded though. Marcus was always thorny with the Eve species, or with anything that couldn’t whisk his standards. To Marcus, women belonged in front of his camera lenses bowing down upon his commands. They always adored him more than he could reciprocate. Perhaps, he’s seen too many and none ever awed him enough to make his body bend a little more than lighting their cigarettes.

She bit on a chocolate wafer. “Things changed.” She excused.

“You gave up. You forgot about that little sophomore I trained day and night for months and she spoke non stop about how big she will become. She knew she was going to be on top one way or another and we loved that about her.”

“You’re being unfair.”

“You remember that girl? She knew. Oh, we all knew she was going to make it.”

“We don’t control life.” She defended poorly.

“True. But forgetting and giving up are too sinning, my dear.”

His sharp 35 year old eyes stared at her as if she deserved pity.

“If things stayed the same, maybe I could put more focus on things.” Things did evolve. Parents grew toward their individual realization. Valuables deteriorated while values abandoned. Comfort shifted. Siblings distanced. Warmth froze. Various love evaporated to just about anything else.

“So you’re saying you couldn’t fulfill things on your own?” He replied.

“I did fulfill things on my own.”

“So what have you achieved that at least deserves a standing ovation?”

“I don’t need standing ovation.”

Marcus raised both eyebrows. “You loved it then. You were born for it. And if you had continued, you wouldn’t be anywhere near your difficulties now.”

“I am not in any difficulties now that I cannot run away from.”

“That’s your disease. You run away repeatedly heading to nothing.”

…I break traditions. Sometimes my tries are outside the line. We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can’t live that way. No… Staring at the blank page before you. Open up the dirty window. Let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find. Reaching for something in the distance. So close you could almost taste it. Release your inebriation. Feel the rain on your skin…

Beddingfield sung her heart out.

She watched as Marcus leaned for his cup of coffee, staring into giddy female shoppers all flashing their branded loads.

“They’re all so ordinary and useless.” Marcus glared at five young fleshes, perhaps in their early twenties smiling shyly his way, occupying the set of couches next to theirs with their purchases, each with updated stylish dyed hair, tight miniskirts and bright sleeveless tops. Louis Vuitton bags encircling their wrists.

“There is nothing that you can get out of them that you cannot get out of yourself,” Marcus continued. “No character, no motivation, no purposes, no life.”

“They have a life. It’s filled with Louis Vuitton and…”

“That’s not living. That’s called passing by so that males of their kind actually have something to do.”

“You’re too harsh on them,” She closed her eyes.

“I am stating reality. In life, either you have it or you don’t.” Marcus put his coffee down. “Not many do. And those who do should be surrounded with people who also…do.”

She ran her fingers through her chin length mahogany hair.

“You know, you were fine before you actually grew up.” Marcus grabbed her attention.

“What does that mean?”

“You were much better off, the most naïve girl I’ve ever met. Naïve but focused.”

“Time never stands still, Marcus.” She said feeling very much interfered.

“I’m sure you’ve done and seen many foolish things. And all those men you let in your life. They drove your mind didn’t they?” Marcus smirked. “God, I know they did. I know you’re always hungry for life. I saw it from the day I met you.”

“I did no such thing.” She grew furious, yet helplessly giving in to his digging on her soul.

“You did. You got so caught up, one after another. God I bet you were ready to give up your life for them too. Forgot your dreams and thought of what you can do for a man you were only infatuated with.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

“No need for a defense. This isn’t a prosecution. I don’t even blame you. You had no guidance. Christ, you were alone out there.” He leaned to face her.

“I don’t regret a single minute of it.”  She lied.

“Stop lying.” He whispered finishing his coffee allowing no trace of emotion.

She clenched her teeth, almost in tears, longing only for the one man in a distance she longed for. “I’m in love now, Marcus.”

“So we all know.” He smiled briefly. “Is it one of your running away schemes again? Another life adventure that you’ll put in your scrap book once it’s over?”

“Don’t talk to me that way.”

“Is it? Is that what you want for your life? Marry a man, fix his kids and then what? Follow his dreams and be the younger beautiful trophy? When will you start thinking of yourself?”

“I want to do a lot of good, Marcus.”

“What? Feed a few poor faces? Look, I don’t mean to sound nasty, but look at you.” Marcus’s face softened in desperation. “You’re throwing yourself away, girl. Where will you end up in the end?”

“I want to be happy. Is that wrong?”

“Happy.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair. “Either you’re lying to me or those goddamn flights really did something to you.”

“I’m not lying and yes, I grew up.” She confessed.

“What’re you going to do? Dance at some cheap bar while playing Mother Theresa?!”

“Marcus!”

Silence.

“It’s nonsense and deep down you know it,” Marcus said softly. “You of all people don’t deserve odd jobs. You’re born for bigger things. God, I could’ve guided you and see you rise to a place where you are supposed to be.”

“Where am I supposed to be?” She asked although she’s heard his answer thousands of times when she was younger.

“You know where.” Marcus said gravely.

…Why must the children play in the street? Broken house and faded dreams. Please tell love to everyone that you meet. Don’t you worry; it could be so sweet.

Just look to the rainbow; you will see. The sun will shine’ till eternity. I’ve got so much love in my arms. No one can tear it apart…

Bob Sinclair played. “I’m not leaving what I got. I’m sorry.” 

“God, you would’ve been very much loved.” He sighed in desperation.

“It would’ve been the love I never needed, Marcus.”

His dirty blonde hair smiled to her as much as his warm hazel eyes she most adored.  The 34 year old was the most beautiful man she’s ever met and there he was sitting across from her 47 year old father. The two men conversed fluently over tea and Balinese cakes, her lover keeping his posture erect and politeness on his lap. Her father, with thin streaks of white hair and “grasshopper” glasses, she always called it, spoke with his usual composed manner, occasionally twisting his lips to smile just enough to break the remoteness he loved. That aristocratic silence he was brought up with.

The three of them occupied an old opened Dutch styled room.  She thought of her ancestors who sat and performed their conversations over tea in that very space since the house was build over a century ago. She shivered staring at the chair where her father crossed his legs. Her deceased grandfather used to take up the spot daily with his wooden cane and million dollar smile despite his stroke and cancer. As many women out there, she adored him with all her flesh and blood. Her great grandmother, she remembered also harbored her body there with her cane and beautiful white hair. At her 90s, her predecessor was the fairest woman out of all the royals she ever knew.

She imagined other past souls, her great great grandfather, the last king himself with his warm brown eyes, thin glasses and writing utensils, taking the same seat for his occasional afternoon tea before returning to his main palace on his chariot 11 kilometers away. Oh, life must’ve been confined and magnificent in those days, she thought.

“Excuse me, Pappa,” She allowed a soft nod before running to what used to be her great grandmother’s chamber. She sat next to her mother staring at herself in the mirror of the old wooden cabinet blanketed with Balinese carvings as any other furniture at the house.

“You called?”  She asked.

“There’s something I wish to say.” The woman inhaled. “There is no excuse that your father and I may deny your wishes to be with a foreigner.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” She kissed her mother’s hands as the older woman shed a tear. “He loves me.”

“Do you love him? Can you love him until death?”

“Physical death is no impediment to love. You taught me that.”

The woman brought her daughter’s head to her chest and said, “You are a female royal and our whole world expected you to find your equal, a male of your status and blood.”

“Then I’ve failed, ma’am,” The young lady answered flatly.

“As many other females in our bloodline, my dear,” Her mother smiled.

“I’ve learned from the very best.” She returned a stiff smile thinking of her aunts whose added foreign blood to the family’s descent.

“Sadly, the patriarchal law allows only the male to choose freely.”

“I was never an obedient child to begin with?” She assured her mother.

“I am a commoner because my mother was a royal who ran away with my father when she was 17. He was only a farm boy then. She gave up her status and inheritance to chase love, the one thing she believed in, and she found it. Karmic law embraces us all. I ended up marrying your father, with royal bloodline. And now, just like your grandmother, you’re giving it up.”

The young lady was aware of such story. She knew that 50 years after their runaway marriage, her grandparents were the happiest, and the only people she held respect and undying love for. They clutched to the one thing she ever wanted in this world – love.

“I know. They’ve given me their approval, ma’am.” She stared at herself in the mirror, remembering her great grandmother combing her long white hair on that very spot with four servants surrounding her, one holding out a bowl of roses drowned in cold water. Roses for her hair.  “They believe that unconditional love is thicker than everything, even blood.” The woman said of her parents.

“Of course it is. Now I only need approval of your husband and his family.”  She spoke of her own father.

“Let me tell you a small secret, my dear.” Her mother rose and stared out the window.

“Which one?” The girl smirked. Royals loved secrets. Concealing. Twisting. Lying.

“Since the father of your father passed away, we need to turn to his brother for the approval of whom you have chosen.”

“That is no secret.” She was aware of such pointless procedure. She needed no approval for loving a foreign man. She was not asking for a permission to live her life with an outsider. She was simply pursuing a statement to avoid discourtesy toward her family.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that even your great uncle will not disapprove your choice.” Her mother stared at her daughter’s eyes.

“How can you be sure?”

“Three out of his four daughters married foreigners.” Her mother implied.

“That is no secret also.”  She said taking pride of her aunt’s choices.

“Do you know why he allowed such freedom?”

The young lady looked at her mother and shook her head.

“Your great uncle did not have the chance to pursue his true love, therefore allowed his children to do so. And he will allow you to do the same.”

The girl stood up. “What do you mean?”

“He fell in love with a woman named Anna, a Christian woman long ago, but was forced to cancel their engagement. He was betrothed since birth with what now his spouse, your great aunt, still a royal tied to your bloodline.”

“I wasn’t aware, ma’am.”

“Your great uncle cried at his own wedding, but was left with no choice. Anna, his former lover married another man in time.”

“That’s tragic.”

“Two months ago Anna passed away from cancer but before she died she cried out your great uncle’s name at the hospital. Anna’s sister reported and asked if he could visit her during her last days. Your great uncle was willing but his wife disallowed such action. So he sent a huge bouquet of roses for her funeral. He cried. Until this day he cries for Anna.”

“He still cries…”

“For simply not having any power in pursuing his love.” Her mother finished firmly.

The 25 year old walked toward the tall double door in order to finish tea with her lover and father.

“My dear,” Her mother called out. ”I ask you to follow the royal procedures until you are formally wedded and “given away”. Bow down to their statements for now. Nod your head toward their advices. Do and finish any ceremonies they wish for you. But remember and this I promise you, with your great uncle as head of this family, no one will object to the love of your life.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” The girl smiled.

“But please, stay royalty at heart. Give it to your children.”

“Yes ma’am.” She bowed and kissed her mother’s hands.

“Don’t let our family die.”

She sat in the back patio of her mother’s new house with a warm cup of cinnamon tea.  The breeze touching her skin made her smile. With white long skirt kissing her ankles, white cotton sleeveless top, and a beige Indian silk scarf covering her shoulders, she felt such a sanctuary with the new cloth covering her body. Out of her exposed cleavage, heels and the presence of human predators, she felt safe and obedient. She felt subservient and eagerly devoted. She was dutiful toward her heritage and childhood beliefs and it made her felt simply good. She touched the yellow little dot on her forehead few times to make sure it was still there. It was a reminder of who she was, where she came from and thousands of souls before her connecting the family’s bloodline.

She rose to glance at herself in the mirror and realized that she was staring at a new person, not the woman few days ago her parents picked up at the airport. She loved the little dot between her eyebrows, a sign that she’s uttered her prayers to the Divinity she held believe for.

Being away from family and close friends, there were no reminders, no support, and no wake up calls in the morning to say that it was time to wake up. Wake up to a not so kind world which forced her to constantly be kind. There was never cinnamon tea or soft Indian silk covering her body. There was, however, other physical comfort far from what she really needed. There was a scarcity of decency and benevolence of others, she thought had run toward extinction. There were never prayers. So without prayers, hope was always abandoned.

She scanned through the dancing papaya and banana trees, various colored roses and other tropical flowers she failed to define in simple English. Then she glanced at her mother’s small plant collection, wondering why the woman had chosen such endeavor – cactus.

“Did you eat enough?” A woman in her late 40s appeared with long cotton pants, T-shirt and a loose scarf covering her head. Between her eyebrows was a red little dot, a color which defines her marriage status.

“I did. Thank you, ma’am,” She answered politely still gulping down the taste of chicken curry with her cinnamon tea.

“When you’re married one day your tilak will be red too,” The older woman informed.

“This little dot.”

“Tilak, it’s called.” Her mother corrected smiling.
”Little dot to me.”  She answered stubbornly giggling.

“It’s just who you are, my child, no matter where you’ll continue to take yourself. Sita remained true to herself before being true to her lover.” Her mother once again recited a piece from The Ramayana, a chapter representing the faithfulness of a princess, from the most renowned Indian epic, The Mahabharata.

She drank her tea as her mother opened up Bhagavad-Gita, yet stared blankly at her plants, then to Nothingness. Should be close to ten years since she stepped foot out of her mother’s roof and so far she has succeeded in yearly visits. Of course each year she saw her mother aged with grace. But this year was different. Her mother simply aged. With grief.

To her daughter, the woman became somewhat of a stranger, a frail weakened being who not too long ago refined with pure beauty with laughing lines framing her pretty light brown eyes. She was once vibrant and invitingly vivacious with energy more than her three daughters ever possessed. It was her natural upbringing to be elegantly supple yet lively at all cost.

It was a different woman this time, a different mother. This woman was quieter, still quite poised yet held a thousand silent cries behind her weary eyes, eyes that used to laugh endlessly.  Her smile was truthful as always, yet solemn and withdrawn. Her voice was warm as her daughter remembered, yet many times it formed an acute tone as if she was fully defending her existence. Her voice was assurance and reminder as to why she still stood with such an erect posture despite the saddened secrets she stored in hiding.

Oh, but her mother’s eyes were the worst liars she has ever met. It takes a pair of liars to define another and her eyes resembled too much of her mother’s.

The woman drowned in the Holy Scriptures, occasionally smiling and reciting things in a whisper to herself.  Her husband, who looked amazingly younger than her despite his older age, arrived with his arms folded in the wooden double door frame.

“I hope you don’t mind that things aren’t exactly done around here,” He said to his daughter in such an aristocratic manner keeping his gaze on the plants surrounding them.  He was referring to their new house, smaller in size compared to one they left and afraid that his eldest daughter would disapprove. Not that she would dare recite objections, but it was somewhat of a family culture to take consideration of the eldest. Since the 48 year old gave birth to no sons, she was not only the eldest but became a replacement of the son her parents never had. Her opinions mattered to him.

“It’s a nice house. I like this back porch, sir.”  She answered politely.

Honest to her Divinity, she carried no objections to possessions of her parents. It was all solely theirs and she was only a guest at their house. She was thankful simply for the roof over her head, food served by the maid for her, and the soft mattress spoiling her body during her afternoon and night naps. It could’ve been more comfortable as the life she had before with them, but as she touched the little dot between her eyebrows, she realized that the only thing she could do was be thankful.

She thought of the hungry children in

Africa

or the peasants she saw earlier digging through wastes in the gutter. Of motherless babies and homeless families with tattered clothes to wear. She felt a ball of guilt rolling in her head, yet the misfortune of others brought her to gratitude for her reality. 

The house was indeed smaller, located at a civilized neighborhood, her mother recited repeatedly at her arrival at the airport. Consisting of a well sized guest room, spacious TV room connected to a dining room set for 6, a kitchen which led to the front garage, front and back garden, four bathrooms and four bedrooms dispersed in two floors, a large space on the second floor separating the rooms turned to the family’s prayer corner, which led to an unpolished balcony - the space was enough.

“We’ll manage. It’s not so terrible is it?”  Her father turned to his wife.

“No, of course not.” She forced out an answer, giving her daughter the of-course-it’s-terrible look before turning to the Gita.

“There is nothing wrong with the house.” The 25 year old firmly stated fully knowing that the decreasing size of their new home went along with how insignificant the love between her parents has grown into. If one can call it growth.

It wasn’t about the home.

It was about so much more that have perished her mother’s laughter and her father’s plain dignity. It was about the remaining of the love between the two souls that brought her into this world. It was her mother’s happiness at stake and her father’s sanity standing at the edge of a cliff.  It was about Betrayal, Misery, Tears, Weakness, and Faith.

“I am going upstairs. Good night.”  Her mother said gravely taking off her glasses leaving the book on the tea table. Upstairs meant the special room where she would began conversing with Divinity in silence.

Father and daughter were accompanied by Silence before the sky clattered in heavy tears.

“I will attend to my book upstairs then. Good night.”  Her father said. Upstairs meant the master bedroom where surprisingly her parents’ bodies still shared bed in the evenings. It would look utterly shameful if they publicly announced their battle. She rolled her eyes before turning to her father.

“Yes, good night, sir.”

She wants to go home…But nobody’s home…

That’s where she lies…Broken inside…

There’s no place to go…no place to go…

She dried her eyes…Broken inside…

Avril Lavigne blared from her sister’s room upstairs.  She thought of how the 21 year old had bloomed to a fine young lady, with big pretty eyes, full lips and slender legs that drew eyes of the many. Here sister possessed pomposity and self-confidence she can only dream about. If she was willing.

When I was a young boy my father took me into the city to see a marching band

He said “Son, when you grow up, would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?”

He said,” Will you defeat them, your demons and all the non believers, the plans that they have made?”

My Chemical Romance blasted from the room right above her, her baby sister’s corner. She heard the spoiled high school senior listening to the tune along with American Idols playing from her TV set, in addition to being on the phone with her college lover.

She curled her eyebrows and finished her tea. Her mother was embracing her lover – God. Her father was reading his share of Einstein knowledge. Both her sisters locked themselves in their own world, uninviting everyone else.

She wished with all her might at that moment that she was out being a savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned. She would defeat them; defeat demons invading everyone’s head. She would defy non believers of Good. That was a place to go.

After all, nobody’s home.

Sometimes to believe in Love is to simply invite Faith to sit at your doorstep. Ah, but she dismissed Faith out the door not too long ago. She’s fought a vain battle against Destiny only falling as the defeated. It was plain lunacy trying to reach victory with mere bafflement and unkind recollections of romance as her ammunitions. And as her head played the plea of an innocent man who’s offered his hand to dance, she cringed at the thought of again, failure. She wanted him as much as he wished upon her. A fairy tale she’s longed all her life. The little voice inside screamed out that this was it. No more departure, no more misgivings and acrimony, no more forgiving as there would be no wrong to pardon. It was time to embrace Happiness.

—————-

She stepped out to the balcony befriending the cloudy evening sky, twisting her messy hair up with a single chopstick.  Her colleague sang one of the summer camp songs in the shower. It had been another exhausting day with countless frivolous children. She’s placed a natural love for them and their entire world of incomparable virtuousness. Yet only in the hands of Silence had she ever found utmost contentment. Thank you, Silence.

A knock at the door sprawled her thoughts. A company was the last she needed but her face broke into a smile seeing his big blue eyes showering her with warmth.

“I’m bored in my room. Mind if I steal your time for a while?” He clasped his palms together and pouted his lips.  She laughed before escorting him to the balcony. She seldom permitted anyone on intruding her precious moments with Silence, yet fondness for him gave her lenience.

“Evan, look this way!”  Lila, with only a piece of towel covering her wet body stood before him. Evan placed hands over his eyes before completely rejecting a scene which he declared unfit. The blonde giggled and returned to her shower.

Evan blushed before turning to his senior leaning on the rail of the balcony next to him, who only smiled at one of Lila’s endless attempts to taint her fellow colleague.

“It’s very awkward.”  The 17 year old stated. He examined her white tight shirt and long baggy cotton pants.  “I appreciate you covering yourself.”   

“Nobody does.” She answered grimly.

“Everyone strips publicly in this age.  People are forgetting the essence of the female body. And the essence of everything else.”  He stated calmly. From the day they were acquainted, she’s felt drawn toward his transparency and subtle uniqueness. It was through his soulful eyes and kindred spirit that she stared at her own reflection few years back before things took a displeasing turn. Before her world bowed down to Adultery.

“I can’t disagree.”  She acknowledged aware of her effortless arguments with every other male.

“Haven’t you ever felt that everything is just so bland and people have become mechanical beings? Doing things without realizing the purpose or effects of their actions.”

“I suppose you’ll give me the answer to that, Mr. Brynne.” She waited impatiently, hungry for anything he may feed her. She’s been too drained to think lately, flooded with grimy thoughts and turning to her imperceptive 40 year old male friends have only corrupted her waters. She needed something else. Something freshly composed to rekindle her timid heart. At 25, hostility served as her loyal companion.

“The irritation I felt trying to watch a football game with dancers blocking my view. It was my first and last attempt in entering that bar.”

“Preference for most men wouldn’t be a difficult presumption.”  She revealed what she knew.

“But how could one think of looking at a woman in such a putrid way? A woman’s body is unmatched beauty so it should receive implausible appreciation in more ways than one.”

“A male evolution parallel to the increasing amount of women who worship the granted they’re taken for.”  She shuddered.

“Yes, people have resigned from life, it seems, accepting what is acceptable. But I don’t want to be like that. I want to wake up in the morning and move forward, know that what I think and do can serve a purpose beyond what is known.”

“Nobility is on the way to extinction.”  She stated smiling.

“That and do you know what people are forgetting these days?”

She shook her head imprisoning her opinions as people have pronounced her insanity over them.

“Look at that.” He pointed at the sky breaking down in tears. Raindrops began kissing the top of their head then shoulders. She backed away but the boy grabbed her elbow. “I’m so sorry.” He bowed letting go of his grip.

“For what?”

“Touching you.” He said coyly. “The only thing that should touch you is those rain drops.”

“I haven’t played in the rain in ages.”  She confessed wondering when was the last time a man apologized for accidentally touching her, if not intentionally pursued. She recalled nothing.

“Why ignore such an amazing phenomenon? If you look at rain as rain, then it’s boring. But look at how it’s formed, how it gives life to grass and plants, how it touches you and trickles down your skin. See how it makes you feel. Why children love rain? Because it’s as pure as they are. It takes beauty to see beauty.”

The boy spoke with striking intensity as if it was his only grasped knowledge.

“If you look at grass as grass for instance, of course there’s nothing profound about it. But look at it closely at dawn and see the morning dew settling on its surface. It’s incredible! Look at the sky and count the stars. Walk on a beach and pick up shells. Look at a woman and see how the monotony of her face breaks into something so exquisite when she smiles with her eyes! It’s those things that people overlook these days and it’s a shame because that’s all that matters really.”

She kept her gaze on him wanting to shed tears much harder than the sky. “People are giving up too often, accepting life and others as they are. We hold a white flag and invite resignation. ‘This is what I live for and this is the world I was born into so there’s nothing more than that. Nothing more I should do.’ People have stopped creating and taking chances. They are afraid to face themselves in the mirror and realize that there are things forgotten, there are things that need to be changed, there are emotional and spiritual boundaries to shatter, and that the world is not solely what it is.”

“Emotional and spiritual boundaries…” She repeated falling into an unexplainable dejavu.
”Simplicity has become dilapidated and homeless.  We tend to spoil our emotions, which most times leave us feeling continuously ravenous as opposed to being contently still. So if our emotions are at stake, how on earth can we unite with our spirituality? Without both, we’re empty and insignificant.” He was giving her a speech which she gave herself when she was his age. His passionate bravery left her wordless

“Am I naïve?” He asserted a question she habitually asked herself.  She grinned at his innocuous disposition pushing her toward such peaceful elevation.

“No,” She silenced for a moment feeling the raindrops running down her neck. “You’re immaculate which makes you a wealthy man.  For some odd reason, people think they have to be erroneously coated to reach Happiness.” 

“How can one be covered in stains to reach ultimate Happiness? From what I heard Happiness is nothing but pure.” He stated.

“And how can one encounter Happiness when one isn’t unscathed? How can beauty see beauty? How can one see purity when one just isn’t?” If she possessed any power to prevent Time from decomposing the living, she would ask to remain youthfully chaste forever until a true love decided otherwise.

”You like the raindrops?”  He asked softly piercing through her dreary mind.

“Feels like a refreshing bath,” She shivered with a smile.

“Well, consider this your first encounter.”

At that she stopped and covered her face with a towel hung nearby.

“I don’t feel clean, Evan.”  She became as tearful as her sky. “Because I’m not.”

The boy kept his gaze seeping through the Devil inside her that made her cry in agony. “When our shield is taken away from us along with the essence within, we feel a great defeat. We feel ashamed for failing to give protection to our own self. We feel small and unworthy.”

She stopped sobbing. “We are left with fear in the end. And because of that, we run away and build thicker shields shutting the entire world away because we feel that breathing in silence is our only hope. Our sanctuary.”

She fidgeted nervously staring at a 17 year old boy reciting her locked emotions in words. Loud and clear. “But life isn’t unkind. Destiny works in mysterious ways beyond our recognition. Sometimes, it forces you to accustom yourself to things, even if it means happiness. It tells you to learn how to hope and believe. It grants your wishes when you least expect it. It begs you to destroy your shields and give yourself in wholeheartedly, surrendering to its greatness. In your case, Destiny decided to summon a person who loves you.”

She froze at his last remark.

“Destiny wants your undivided attention therefore forcing you to fight against the demon inside until you succeed. The raindrops purified your body but as for your soul, you must try to release everything that is not love.”

“How did you know…?”  She asked.

“I wish you are reborn to a new soul and walk unscathed for the rest of your life.”  With that the boy bowed graciously before her.

————–

He closed their evening and returned to his room just a few balconies away. She struggled with herself as to whether she should accompany nature or dry herself for bed. Her mind began creating excuses.

You might turn ill. It’s late; you should go to bed. You have a long day tomorrow. People might see and think you’re foolish. Lila will drag you inside once she’s out of the bathroom. You’re feeling cold anyway.

Oh, how conditioned her mind was, she realized. For something as simple as raindrops. How uncompromising and severely tense.  From where she stood, she witnessed Evan Brynne leaning on the rail of his balcony staring at the sky allowing pearly raindrops dance across his face. In his solitary, he was innocently content blanketed in gentle wind. He was soft and considerate toward himself. Toward Happiness.

As drops of rain seeped through her clothing and caressed every inch of her body, she envisioned the man she held love for. She would love to hold on to love. She would cast away all ammunitions. She would be evermore grateful to Destiny for dropping him during one of the most upsetting chapter of her life. In a way, he rescued her, bathed her with devotion and protected her.

She would love to dance with him under the rain. Forever.

What in God’s many names was I thinking?! Less than two months ago, I must’ve been completely mentally intoxicated since I took a good fifteen minutes to type in and justify the fact that I was starting to be lenient toward men.  I must’ve been literally trapped in some temporary fuzzy feeling of…forgiveness.  It was one unattractive fata morgana oozing wistful notions out of my head.  Even my lover stated, “She’s forgiving men!?”  Oh, Lord Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Mary Mother of God, Abraham, Mohammad, and all dwellers of the Heavens, knock a raindrop of sense to this piece of mortality!

Whatever relaxing stroll I took on that sunny afternoon …Christ, whatever giggles occupied my mouth; it was such a gigantic false assumption. Absolutely bogus and uncalled for! Call me emotionally undignified, teen puberty addict, or internally handicapped, it doesn’t matter. (I don’t listen to people’s name callings on me anyway).

                                          

Umm…but really now, it’s been bothering me at every sunburned strand of my hair. Even my left wenus gets itchy thinking about it. 

———————————————————————————————————

Of all the creatures on this planet, men are the only ones who voluntarily read abusive materials telling them they are stupid, useless, cruel, impotent, crummy parents, terrible partners, and the list walks on. Oh, I guess that’s what differentiates the human male with the

Caribbean

reef squid let’s say. They don’t read books and articles discussing them being one-sided mind and biologically irrelevant.  In fact, men have already noticed their eviction from this planet as it is no longer anybody’s secret that the Y chromosome is deteriorating faster than the Wicked Witch of the West.  There are predictions that close to 100,000 years from now that men will just need a few semen slaves to milk and that a woman can handle the rest from reproduction to refinancing on their own.  Yes, the female is THAT superb.

But I guess the question whether men are biologically necessary for the future is something secondary.  It’s not that men are nonessentials to our ecosystem for that matter, but that men just suck big time. Forget men being responsible for the Pyramids, the Magna Carta, brown sugar, the Renaissance, the goddamn iPod, motion pictures, the Louvre, that 1969 (was it?) landing on the moon, Starry Night, Disney World, theory of relativity, and the Great Wall of China. After all that, men still suck. They are ignorant, bad dressers, mean, insensitive, heart breakers, low class liars, two timing cheaters, selfish and love to invade places like Iraq because they f***ing feel like it.  They constantly claim they’re the best you could ever have. (What is it with false advertising?) They can’t admit their wrongdoings until you throw something at them and even then, they’ll admit just to shut you up. They want you to look like Salma Hayek while turning Sponge Bob on you before your next birthday.  Add to that, they can also forget your birthday.

Really, the whole world is just better off without them.

————————————————————————————————————

There.  That was an entry I submitted to this very blog less than two months ago. Yet, I denied such fact.  The wildest idea formed inside my head and I said to myself, “Okay, boys, I forgive you for being who you are. I forgive all of you for turning out the way your mother never wished for even a second. I forgive you and will give you another chance. Many more chances in fact. We’ll catch a flick. We’ll eat my favorite chips out of the same bowl. We’ll go shopping together and guess what? You get to carry my bags. Yaaaay!! We’ll sit in one room, hey how about one couch? I absolutely trust you. We’ll drink off the same cup and lick off the same spoon. We’ll go out dining and spend hours discussing EU politics, sports, presently accredited motion pictures,

Asia

’s economical emergence, interracial marriages, or current literary masterpieces. Whatever. You name it. I’ll be the greatest conversational partner you’ll ever meet! We’ll go clubbing. Don’t forget to be nice and let the next alpha male cut in. Buy me a drink and I’ll buy yours. And we’ll both end the night on our own bed hugging our own bolsters. We’ll be best friends forever and you don’t have to ever discover which part of my body needs Gillette. Oh, here comes the best part! You get to meet my lover and have a chit chat with him too! He’s such a nice guy. So what’s the deal, boys?”

(Sigh) It would take a miracle for me to not make a fuss over the way so many

Adams

have left their moronic footprints at my doorstep. And I’m afraid I can’t and don’t wish to manufacture a miracle.  So, one last time. What in God’s many names was I thinking?!